Plaything
by Sip Fornicaras
Summary: How could he really think of her as a simple plaything, just an object for his own amusement? slight Szayel/Cirucci


**Warnings:** Strong Language

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**Plaything**

As she slowly drifted back toward consciousness, the first thing Cirucci was aware of was the cold. There was a biting cold beneath her, and the air around her was so chilly it caused gooseflesh to rise all over her body. She tried, but failed to suppress a shiver as she wondered where she was and what fate had befallen her. The last things she could remember were terrible pain and seeing Nnoitra's face and bare chest spattered with her blood as her eyes fell closed. Had she died? Was this what death felt like? The rate of her pulse increased with her concern as she slowly began to lift her eyelids. If she saw Hell when she opened her eyes, she could deal with it then. At least she'd have her answers.

Immediately her eyes were bombarded with bright, blinding light from above. She tried to raise an arm to shield them, only to find that it was strapped down. Attempting to move her other limbs ended with the same realization, and that was really all the information she needed to determine where she was. This was Hell, or as close as one could get while still in Las Noches, anyway. Despite the annoying light above her preventing her from fully opening her eyes, there was no doubt in her mind that she was strapped to one of the tables in Szayel Aporro's laboratory. Still, she wanted to see. Turning her head to the side, she tried again to open her eyes completely, blinking away the tears brought on by the sting of the lights.

"_Szayel Aporro!! _You bastard! Where the hell are you?!" She was slowly adjusting to the lights, and managed a brief glance around the areas of the room within her view. There was no sign of him or any of his fracción, but she did notice a table nearby, littered with various medical instruments. That made her a little nervous, but she tried not to let it get to her. Instead, she focused on her anger. "Szayel Aporro! Get your ass in here right now!" If he wanted to go wandering off to tinker with his experiments, he could at least have the courtesy to leave her unrestrained. _And some clothes would be nice too_, she added as an afterthought. _Damn pervert._

"You're kind of pretty when you cry. You know that, Privaron?"

"I'm not crying, idiot! These damn bright lights are making my eyes water," she spat, turning this way and that in attempt to locate the source of his voice. It was no good. She couldn't see him anywhere, but now she could hear the clicks of his boot heels as he made his way across the polished floor, presumably in her direction. Good. Now she could at least insult the pink prick face to face.

When he came into view he had a smug smile plastered across his face, just like he usually did when he was in her presence. "You seem to be in such a foul mood. Why is that? You should be more cheerful. After all, you are still alive." He tisked, waving his index finger in her face, which she promptly attempted to bite. He withdrew his hand just in time to avoid a nasty wound.

"Who wouldn't be in a bad mood around you? Now let me up from here and give me back my _clothes_! Why the hell did you even take my clothes, you fucking pervert?! Just couldn't resist having something to feel up or fuck?!"

"Don't be disgusting," he replied, his smile fading. "You act as if I'd behave like Nnoitra, and I'm sure we both know how unlikely that is."

"I don't know shit." The realization that she'd chosen her words poorly hit as soon as his smile returned. "Wait a minute. That's not what I meant you damn--"

"Anyway," he interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. "I brought you here to heal you. You should really be more careful about who you invite into your bed, don't you think?"

"Tch. I didn't _invite_ that prick anywhere. He invited himself," she replied with a scowl.

"Oh?" He tilted his head slightly to one side inquisitively. "I don't suppose you put up much of a fight."

"How do you think I got hurt in the first place?!"

"Well, there's a first time for everything then, isn't there? Many of Nnoitra's partners are worse for the wear when he leaves them. Some of them don't even survive for an encore."

"You think I don't know that?"

"I wasn't sure you heard such things out in Tres Cifras."

She hissed, narrowing her eyes at him. It never failed. He always had to bring up her rank. Why couldn't he just leave that old horse to rest? It had been beaten more than enough. "You always have to take a stab at my rank, don't you?"

"You mean your loss of rank. Would you prefer I take _stabs_ at other things instead?" He smiled, glancing at the medical instruments on the nearby table.

Once again, she realized she should have thought her word choice through more. His new interest in nearby sharp objects made her a bit uneasy, but she wasn't about to back down. "Why don't you let me up from here and see how easy it is for you to get away with that? I'll show you what made me an Espada in the first place, bastard."

"I don't think so, _Privaron_. I prefer you this way, nice and submissive." He reached out to stroke her cheek with a finger, and she turned to snap at him again. She was close, but, like before, he drew his hand away just in time. "Touchy, touchy. So violent, even in this position."

She eyed him warily as he made his way over to the table to pick up a scalpel, watching the light reflect off the cold metal with a sinister sort of fascination. She didn't care for where this was going. "Why the hell did you bring me here, anyway? You think you're all high and mighty, so if I'm so worthless to you, why did you heal me?"

"Oh." He shrugged casually, lips spreading into a wicked grin as he temporarily returned his attention to her. "I considered leaving you to your fate, but you're so much _fun_ to toy with sometimes. How could I resist?"

Her blood began to boil, and if looks could kill, Szayel Aporro would have dropped dead. How dare he treat her like a plaything? It made her want to tear him apart. She lunged forward violently, straining against the straps that held her to the table in an attempt to tear herself free. His mocking laughter only served to infuriate her further, causing her to struggle with her binds even more furiously. He began to approach as she thrashed about wildly, twirling the scalpel calmly between his fingers.

"Now, now," he chided as his last few chuckles died away. "Behave yourself!" He drew the blade back and slashed at her cheek, startling her into lying still and quiet for a brief moment. Streams of red trickled down her face, and that brief moment of stillness was all he needed. He leaned down, tenderly licking the blood from the wound, surprising her for a second time during such a brief period. Just when she was about to begin the fight again, she felt the weight of his reiatsu hit her like a wall, pinning her against the table. He never faltered in what he was doing, pulling away only when he was satisfied. "You're rather pretty when you bleed, you know," he informed her, licking his lips as he admired her, gently running one hand along her side and down her stomach.

"You _are_ a fucking pervert! Get your hand off me, and keep your filthy _tongue_ off me too!"

"Pervert? You have me all wrong. I'm just admiring my handiwork, that's all. Such smooth, flawless skin..." He trailed off, stroking her skin affectionately. "To think it was blood soaked and shredded when I brought you in here."

"Handiwork, my ass. You're just a _fucking pervert_. Too bad nobody would ever want you, isn't it, Szayel Aporro?"

He frowned and withdrew at those words, regarding her quietly for a moment before speaking again. "Hm. You're kind of pretty when you cry, and even prettier when you bleed... I bet you'll be beautiful when you _die_."

Her eyes widened in horror as he raised the scalpel high above her. He couldn't be serious, could he? He wouldn't kill her just for saying something like that, surely. She got her answer when that shining metal blade began rushing downward. Her pulse raced and her breath caught in her throat. Her eyes squeezed shut in anticipation of the strike, but instead of feeling the blade pierce her flesh, there was simply a clang of metal against metal as the blade clashed with the table just beside her neck, and then Szayel Aporro's psychotic laughter. When she opened her eyes again, she didn't see his face, eyes alight with wicked glee, but his retreating back as he left the same way he came.

"Wait a minute. Where are you going? You can't just leave me here!"

He managed to quiet his laughter long enough to reply, "I can't play with you all day, Privaron, but don't worry. I'll be back later. You can count on that."

Soon after, the clicking of his boot heels faded away, leaving her alone again in the silence of his laboratory. Normally she would have continued to shout after him, but instead, she found herself worrying about what else she could count on when he returned. Next time, death might not be such a joke.


End file.
